


White Feathers

by kathkin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Guardian Angels, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24376744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: He could save Arthur if he fell out of a tree or wandered in front of a car, if he got mugged or attacked, shot, stabbed, burned, hurt. But now he could do nothing but watch as Arthur spiralled down, down, with no-one to help him. It was almost more than Merlin could take. He flew away once, away up onto a rooftop, wrapped himself in his wings and tried to stop his heart from breaking.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 168





	White Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [this prompt](https://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/6345.html?thread=11608009#t11608009) on Kink Me Merlin in 2010:
> 
> _Arthur/Merlin, modern!AU_
> 
> _Inspired by the Canadian Virgin Mobile advertisement: http://towleroad.typepad.com/.a/6a00d8341c730253ef0120a7b28960970b-pi_
> 
> _Merlin is Arthur's guardian angel and spent years looking out for him, making sure he did not get harmed badly physically. (Which was especially tiring for Merlin when Arthur was in his reckless-teen-bad-boy-phase.) Merlin did all this anonymously. Now, when Arthur is a hard-working businessman, Merlin thinks he need to go further than preventing Arthur from walking under a bus while on the phone. It's time to let the lonely (or depressed) Arthur know there is at least one person who cares for him deeply ... but that would also mean revealing himself._
> 
> _Merlin's wings are optional. Anon would love a few mentions of what situations Merlin saved Arthur in, but would prefer the focus to be on the current situation with Merlin trying to save Arthur from his dark thoughts._

The first time was when Arthur was nine months old, crawling around his kitchen unsupervised. Merlin prised a bottle of bleach out of his little baby hands and shooed him back through to the living room, to play with his proper toys.

The next day, he left a leaflet from a company that did baby-proofing on the doormat for Arthur’s father to find. It seemed to work.

Merlin watched as he took his first steps, shuffled along beside him while the nanny rushed for the camcorder – his father was away on business, he’d watch the tape when he came back. On his first day of school, Merlin followed him through the doors, sat in the corner and watched as he finger-painted, threw balls around, learned to read, to write, to count. He sat back and relaxed.

Because while Arthur was a child, saving him was easy. It was as simple as flying up to catch him when he fell out of a tree, cushioning him with his wings, snatching him back out of the way of a car. Arthur bubbled happiness and pride, gold and red and white, and Merlin was content.

It got harder when he was in his teens – there was alcohol, drugs, drunk-driving, the most outrageously dangerous hobbies – but it was straightforward. Merlin knew what he was doing, through the last years of school, through university, through getting a job at his father’s company, proud of his grades and his degree and his position, happy and successful, and for a few years Merlin thinks that maybe his job is done.

Later, he wondered if he let himself get too complacent. It didn’t help that there was no one cause of it all. He watched all the causes develop, spiral out of control, and he did nothing.

*

It probably started with Sophia, Merlin thought. Not that it was her fault, not really. She worked below Arthur. She was blond and pretty, skirt-suits and high heels and long wavy hair. She agreed to go on a date with Arthur.

At first, Merlin approved. Sophia was definitely an improvement on the other girls, the girls at school and university. She would sit and play with her hair while Arthur talked, laughing at the right moments, agreeing with him about the food, the wine, the weather, politics. After a few weeks, he invited her home.

Merlin sat outside the door – he always did that, to give Arthur some privacy – and smiled.

But then, the next time they saw Sophia, something had changed. She was suddenly animated, talkative.

“I mean,” she said midway through the meal. “I _love_ Pendragon Industries. I’m _devoted_ to what I do. I just think I’m… well, I’m wasted in my current position. There’s so much more I could be doing, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” said Arthur. “How’s your pasta?”

“Hmm? Oh, delicious,” she said. “There’s a senior position opening up next month, you know. Sandra’s retiring. You have a say in who gets it, don’t you?” She smiled at Arthur. He stared back. Merlin took his head in his hands.

After a moment or two, Arthur leaned back in his seat, and said in the faux-cheerful tone Merlin knew far too well. “You know, anyone would think you’d only been dating me for that position or something, the way you’re going on about it.”

Sophia hesitated a fraction of a second too long before saying, “Oh, don’t be silly, Arthur.” Then, a moment later, “But you _do_ have a say, don’t you?”

 _Misery_ , Merlin felt, coming off Arthur in waves. _Sadness_. “Fine,” he said, just barely keeping the bitterness out of his tone. “You want it that badly, it’s yours.”

Sophia let out a whoop of joy.

*

After Sophia came Vivian, the daughter of one of Uther’s friends, who spent six months throwing a temper tantrum every time Arthur refused to buy her a necklace or a new dress or a pair of shoes. Then Elaine, who left Arthur for his best friend Lance – ‘he’s just so much more _sensitive_ , Arthur, he understands me so much better than you’. Then Anna, who lasted almost a year before demanding to know when Arthur was going to propose, so she could get at his bank account.

By the time Gwen came along – dear, sweet Gwen – Merlin was starting to wonder why Arthur was still trying.

But Gwen was perfect. She was pretty, intelligent, not at all shallow, and she seemed to honestly love Arthur back. Eight months after they met, Arthur even took her to dinner with his family.

She spent the whole time in deep conversation with his sister Morgana. A month later, she phoned him one evening to say:

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he said, tucking the phone between his ear and his shoulder while he dug around in a kitchen cupboard.

“It’s just,” she said, “Morgana. She’s really amazing. And she’s moving to Belfast.”

“Yes, and?” said Arthur. “Gwen, what –”

“She’s moving to Belfast and she wants me to come with her,” said Gwen. “We’re going to live together.”

There was a pause. Arthur adjusted the phone, held it properly. “What, like, flatmates?” he said.

“No,” said Gwen. “No, not exactly – I’m sorry, Arthur, you’re really lovely, you are, but I just –”

Arthur hung up the phone. It rang again a few minutes later, and again, but he didn’t answer. He sat hunched in a leather armchair in the living room, a burst of dark blue misery, Merlin kneeling on the floor beside him, wondering what he should do.

*

And then, of course, there was Arthur’s father. He had been away on business so often while they were growing up, but he’d bring back presents from exotic places, so that was alright.

But now he was an adult, Arthur believed – truly, honestly believed – that his father blamed him for his mother’s death. Merlin could tell. The thought stirred in his head sometimes, over and over, during the night, at work, while he was waiting for a bus. Merlin wished that he knew how to make it go away.

When Arthur wanted to see his father, he had to make an appointment with the secretary at least a week in advance, then arrive promptly at his office. Sometimes he would have to wait outside while his father dealt with a meeting that was running long.

A few months after Gwen and Morgana left, he was summoned to his father’s office, and went with dread flowing around his feet and Merlin trailing behind him, wings spread.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” he said once he was inside.

“Sit down, Arthur,” said his father. Arthur sat. “You’re aware of my plans for the New York office, of course.”

“Yes,” said Arthur. “I’m… not involved. Am I?”

His father shook his head. “I’ve decided to go over there personally,” he said. “For the first year or so. I thought you should know.”

“Right,” said Arthur. “Will you need me too –”

“Leon is going to take over my duties here,” said his father. “You’ll remain in your current position. You’re better suited to it.”

And Arthur nodded, thanked his father, left the room. Merlin wrapped a wing around him, curled it tight, but he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything at all.

Uther communicated with his son via terse emails, all business. When he announced his engagement to a Miss Catrina Tregor eight months into his stay, it was no surprise that Arthur was shocked.

Two months after that, they were announcing her pregnancy.

*

When Arthur started drinking, Morgana and Gwen were in Belfast (they still sent Arthur a card every Christmas, but he refused to contact them, no matter how many times Merlin left his address book pointedly open), Lance was in the South of France, his father was in New York, celebrating the birth of his new son, and Merlin was behind him, silent, unseen, helpless.

He could save Arthur if he fell out of a tree or wandered in front of a car, if he got mugged or attacked, shot, stabbed, burned, hurt. But now he could do nothing but watch as Arthur spiralled down, down, with no-one to help him. It was almost more than Merlin could take. He flew away once, away up onto a rooftop, wrapped himself in his wings and tried to stop his heart from breaking.

He tried leaving leaflets around, support groups, hotlines, self-help books, _anything_ , but it all just got lost or ignored. Arthur never even noticed. Arthur was a tight, shadowy ball of misery and stress and loneliness. Merlin knew what he was thinking. Merlin always knew what he was thinking. Arthur thought there was no point getting help, because there was no-one left to care. Sometimes Merlin would catch terrifying, haunting thoughts. Arthur sometimes wondered if there was any point going on at all.

There wasn’t much left for Merlin to do but accept that he had failed. But he had never been able to deal with failure.

*

It all came to a head one night when Arthur was tucked away in his office, computer humming in the background, working late. He worked late a lot now, and it seemed to distract him, the lines of his emotion would straighten out, and sometimes if it went well there would even be soft yellow contentment. But tonight evidently work was more stressful than usual, for after an hour or so Arthur was hunting around in the bottom drawer of his desk for the bottle he kept there.

Merlin had taken it away. He had emptied the contents out into a sink, then thrown away the bottle. He had done the same in Arthur’s flat, just in case it might help. But Arthur just darkened still further, stress curling in on itself. He muttered something about the cleaners, then slumped down over his desk, head in his hands, staring at the screen.

He was thinking _what’s the point_. He was thinking _maybe I should just_ – 

Stress spiralled into loneliness, and Merlin suddenly wanted more than anything else in the world to talk to him, to tell him everything he had been saving up since Arthur was born and he had first looked upon his new charge, upon his human, and he had known that he had never loved any being as much as he loved that tiny, beautiful little baby.

He rested a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. It was more for his own comfort than for Arthur’s, but Arthur froze, eyes fixed on the misty reflections in the screen, suddenly wide with disbelief. After a long, quiet, aching moment, he twisted around, chair squeaking as it turned, and look at Merlin.

 _At_ Merlin. Not through him or past him or in his general direction. Arthur was staring right at him, tracing the smooth curve of his wings with his eyes. And that was wrong, this wasn’t supposed to happen, Merlin should have let himself vanish again, let Arthur think it had all been a dream. He should have done that.

Instead, he said, “Hi,” a little awkward. He hadn’t talked to anyone else in a long time. Not since he’d been assigned. 

“What,” said Arthur flatly.

“I’m Merlin,” said Merlin.

“Right,” said Arthur. “Um. What. Where did you come from?”

“I’ve always been here,” said Merlin, hand drifting from Arthur’s shoulder to the back of his neck, revelling in the feel of Arthur’s skin. He could really feel it now, now he was solid.

And Arthur was thinking, _this is it, I’m losing my mind._

“No, you’re not,” said Merlin, with a shy smile.

“Not what?” said Arthur.

“Losing your mind,” said Merlin, stroking Arthur’s hair idly. “I’m real. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t be able to see me, I just – I just wanted so badly just now. I wanted to – ” He broke off. Arthur’s gaze was back on his wings. Merlin didn’t think he’d ever seen him so utterly confounded. It was almost funny.

“Wanted to what?” said Arthur, dazed, as if dreaming.

“Talk to you,” said Merlin, “that’s all. I swear. You’re completely safe. You’re always safe when I’m here.” He slid his other hand around Arthur’s shoulders. He was warm. He hadn’t expected him to feel so warm.

“What – are they real?” said Arthur, nodding at Merlin’s wings. Merlin just smiled. “Can I touch them?”

“Of course,” said Merlin. Arthur stretched out a hand, buried his fingers in the feathers.

“It’s soft,” he said, marvelling. Then he flinched back, suddenly frightened, standing up and backing away, but there was nowhere to go behind him but his own desk. “This is – insane. You’re not real.”

“I just want to talk,” said Merlin. He slid an arm around Arthur again, tangled his fingers in his hair. “I just – I thought you ought to know.”

“Ought to know what?” asked Arthur.

“Just that I love you,” said Merlin. And then it all came out in a great tumbling rush. “I love you so much, Arthur. I’ve always been here, since you were born, and I’ve always loved you. I love you more than anything else in the universe, understand? You have to understand, there’s so much in you worth saving, just because not everyone sees it – that’s not a reason to lose yourself.”

“I’m not losing myself,” said Arthur, but he didn’t look like he believed it. Then, “Are you –”

“Yeah,” said Merlin. “Yes. I look after you. Always have.” _Am I really worth that_ , Arthur was thinking. “Of course. Everyone’s worth protecting, Arthur.” He shifted further forward, close enough that he could feel Arthur’s breath on his skin. “I can’t stay like this. It’s not allowed. I just want you to know that I’m not leaving. I’ll always be here and I’ll always care about you, alright? Alright?” Arthur nodded. “And – somewhere in your kitchen at home there’s some leaflets about support groups. And that. Promise me you’ll try.”

“I promise,” said Arthur. His fingers tangled in Merlin’s feathers again, as if they were a lifeline, and Merlin just wanted to stay like that forever, touching Arthur. He might never do this again, he realised, and suddenly the yearning for contact was more than he could bear.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He leaned forward, one knee resting on Arthur’s desk, and kissed him, hurried and messy and desperate. He could already feel his control waning, his new solid body starting to fade away. He had just enough time to pull back and murmur apologies against Arthur’s lips before it gave, before Arthur was slumping against the desk, looking back and forth, as if Merlin had simply vanished, dissipated into the air. 

He stumbled forward, straight past Merlin to open the door, stare down the corridor, stood gripping the doorframe. _Confusion_. It was green and orange and wild. But there was also hope, shining amongst the mess of misery and stress and loneliness. Merlin smiled.

*

When Arthur turned back to his desk, there was a note for him stuck to the screen. _I’m still here_ , it said, scrawled in unfamiliar handwriting, then a little heart. He stood and stared at it for a long time, then sank down into his chair, reached for the phone, and began to dial his sister’s number.

(Sometimes he would find notes around his flat, stuck to his fridge with little magnets, little snippets of advice. And some mornings he’d wake up to find soft white feathers on his pillow.)


End file.
